


Drink Deep, or Taste Not

by spacehopper



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Time Travel, Blow Jobs, Clothed Sex, Hand Jobs, Identity Porn, M/M, Mind Games, Telepathy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-10
Updated: 2020-09-10
Packaged: 2021-03-06 17:20:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,251
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26382520
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spacehopper/pseuds/spacehopper
Summary: Back in his body in his first weeks as Archivist, Jon has a chance to make things right. To find and destroy the body of the man who reshaped the world, if only he can get the key, and avoid Elias’s far too keen eyes.
Relationships: Elias Bouchard/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist
Comments: 5
Kudos: 120





	Drink Deep, or Taste Not

**Author's Note:**

  * For [asuralucier](https://archiveofourown.org/users/asuralucier/gifts).



> Written for asuralucier for [Equality Auction](https://equalityauction.dreamwidth.org/). Hope you enjoy!

Jon hated not knowing.

The drawer stared back at him, the tray filled with carefully aligned pens, pale yellow sticky notes and an array of impossibly neat paper clips, and no damn key. It should be here, he remembered it being here when he took it to begin his subterranean explorations, months from now and years ago. Behind him, the clock ticked on relentlessly, each second marking two beats of his heart. A terror he’d forgotten clawing at his throat as he slammed the drawer shut and scrambled to his feet, scanning the room as if eyes alone could reveal what he needed.

Elias’s office was an uncomfortably familiar location. If it hadn’t been, Jon never would have known where the key had been that first time he’d taken it. But more than once he’d stood behind Elias, as Elias showed him something on his computer. Watched him open his drawers, all meticulously organized.

Sometimes, he’d stayed too late. The both of them caught up in some small minutiae, until Jon found the error. Leaning in to point it out, his shoulder brushing Elias’s, the sound of the cloth too loud in the quiet of the Institute at night. His face heating, even as he tried to cover it with bluster, while Elias thanked him. Complimented his work. Invaluable as always, Jon.

He swallowed hard, and wished he could’ve avoided coming here. Certainly once, he might’ve appreciated Elias’s regard. Not seriously, only in the way that what he now can see was deliberate flattery managed to get to his head.

Oh, what was the point of lying to himself now? His fingers trailed along the desk, catching hopefully on a stack of papers as he lifted it, already knowing there was nothing to find. He had fancied Elias a bit, once. But those feelings had died long ago. Even if Jon hadn’t known, when he’d been where he was now, it didn’t change the hard truth. The man he’d thought Elias was had never existed.

There was only the monster, ever watchful in his tower.

He forced his focus back to the key, moving to the bookshelves, pulling at the books although he knew Elias never bothered to hide things there. Had he moved it? Was he onto Jon? Jon had never been a good liar, and only got worse with so much at stake. Jon knew, in a way he knew far too few things these days, that Elias couldn’t see into his mind. But that itself might arouse suspicion. And Jon needed Elias to be complacent, to think he knew who and what Jon was. That he could control what he wanted Jon to be.

He wondered what Elias might say, if he knew Jon had already become everything he hoped for, and eventually feared. In a terrible world that might yet not come, if only he could find the key.

Jon took a deep breath, closing his eyes and trying to reach. His first attempt to Know had been disastrous. Perhaps he shouldn’t have immediately reached for Elias’s—Jonah’s—location, but he hadn’t been sure how weak he would be, or how much time he truly had. Still wasn’t sure, though it seemed his position here was at least supernaturally stable. 

He’d opened his eyes to a worried Sasha asking if she needed to call an ambulance. Just tired, he’d said, and she’d accepted it. Why wouldn’t she? He’d always been a workaholic, always looked for more answers, trying to make sense of impossible secrets. And he’d never done all that much to gain any true affection from his assistants. Too concerned about his position, keeping aloof, so proud of how much he’d thought he knew.

What an idiot he’d been.

Not like he was doing much better now, though, was he? Squeezing his eyes tighter, scrabbling after that trickle of awareness that told him his worst fears were correct, that the key wasn’t here. Still without the knowledge of where it was. He reached for the desk, steadying himself as he pulled harder, teasing out the wisp of knowledge. Crisply pressed trousers, a corridor, movement. A door opening.

A door he recognized.

His eyes flew open, but it was far too late to even consider hiding. Could he make up some excuse? What reason would he have had to be in Elias’s office, in those early days? Certainly they’d spent time together, but it had always been prearranged, usually initiated by Elias. And nearly always Elias initiating their meetings. As much as he’d disdained protocol and politeness, he’d never have dared breach that trust between them, to enter without Elias’s permission.

All he could do was turn to face his fate, as the door swung open to reveal his entire reason for being here. And on some level, his reason for being.

The door clicked shut, and Elias turned, his face like carved stone, eyes grey glass. No surprise, no fear, not even disapproval. He was waiting for Jon, of course. Looking for his reaction, so he could react in turn. Playing his endless games, and God, Jon had never been good at this sort of thing. Not even when he’d known enough to try.

“Jon. Did we have a meeting?” Elias’s face cracked into a small—dare he call it fond?—smile. Worse than anger, leaving Jon gaping, letting the easy excuse fall between them as Elias slowly approached. Resting his hand on the desk next to Jon’s, and blocking any attempt at escape.

“Elias, I—” If only he’d been faster, even if Elias were suspicious, he might’ve had a way out. Elias would have let him take the easy lie. He was just fishing for information. Always cautious, slow to act, unless he felt threatened, and Christ, Jon really wasn’t helping that, was he? “I wanted to speak with you.” Brilliant, stall for time. He’d _never_ catch onto that.

“Please, take a seat.” Elias gestured in front of his desk. A simple chair, upholstered in faux black leather, with an ergonomic back and comfortable arm rests, on wheels to allow his many visitors to sit and depart with ease. Comfortable and practical and completely unremarkable. Just like Elias.

Jon had sat in it before, many times. His refusal to talk now could only look suspicious. But he couldn’t escape the terror that it was some sort of trap. Locking him into the lie of the person he’d once been, or the terrible truth of what Elias wanted him to be. It would be so easy to sit, wouldn’t it? To smile and let Elias play his games. To pretend he’d look for an opening, that he was just waiting.

Until it all came crashing down again.

“Jon?” Elias said.

He was stalling, and Elias knew it. Elias didn’t take his own seat, instead stepping closer to Jon. It’d taken Jon too long to respond. Damn it, damn it, he needed to stop panicking. He needed to think, no, he needed to _know_. All he had were guesses about what might lurk behind Elias’s too old eyes. What he might know about Jon. What he might be trying to discover.

“I’m sorry,” Jon finally managed, voice cracking. Maybe his obvious nervousness would help sell the lie. “I’m just a bit tired. Scattered.” He proffered a weak smile and took a step back towards the door.

A hand fell heavy on his shoulder. Offering reassurance, a hint of the warmth they’d once had? Or trying to restrain Jon, because he knew, he must know. Just toying with Jon, he’d always loved his little jokes, loved lording all he knew over everyone else, the sick thrill of being the one in the room who always had all the answers.

Answers Jon wished he had.

He focused Elias’s eyes, and tried to think of the key, even as the terror that Elias would somehow feel what he was doing rose. Cresting as Jon swayed, and Elias’s hand tightened. Brow furrowing in worry or suspicion. Still, he caught Jon. Though part of Jon wished he’d managed to pass out. At least then he could’ve escaped this conversation.

But if he’d passed out, he wouldn’t have what he had now. The certainty that the key was within his grasp, nestled in the pocket of Elias’s trousers, custom tailored by a man who knew that one day he would find he could no longer refuse the aching desire to cut the soft fabric that was his skin. When he did, Elias would take that from him as well, watching and doing nothing as he made himself into his most transcendent creation. And then he would find a different tailor.

Jon shoved the knowledge aside, fought against the urge to look harder. It didn’t matter, just like it didn’t matter how sweetly that terror tickled in his throat. He was here for a reason. The reason was all that mattered. The key. And the only thing he needed to know about Elias was exactly how to find him, and end this all forever.

“Jon? Do you need to go home? I assure you, I’m happy to give you the day off, if that’s what this is.” Another out, as Elias stepped closer still. Jon could take it, probably should. Elias would put the key back eventually, and even if he didn’t, then Jon could think of something else. Try the other entrances, where it might be easier to break into without suspicion, even if they were less direct.

But he was so close. What if the other entrances were guarded? What if they were too far? And what if Elias could see more clearly there, through the eyes of a passerby, or even an unfortunately placed rat? The one advantage Jon had was that he’d made certain the Archives had no eyes. And Elias couldn’t see through his.

His hand trembled as he reached out, not sure what he was doing as his fingers brushed the edge of Elias’s pocket. The move was so transparent Elias had to see through it. Blatant pickpocketing wasn’t exactly something that required supernatural insight to spot. So Jon stopped just on the edge, fingers resting lightly on Elias’s hip, and dragged his gaze back up to Elias.

And saw something he didn’t expect.

The flash was so brief he thought at first he imagined it. His own face flushed, lips wettened by a nervous dart of his tongue. Closer now, eyes wide and dark and wanting as elegant fingers brushed back a lock of hair. Elias’s fingers, the image mingling with passing fantasies he’d long buried, Elias turning to him with a smile. _You’ve done so well, Jon. I can’t trust anyone as much as you._

Except no, the words were wrong, and the earlier images shifted back into focus. Jon was lovely, in his way. A bright spark to be appreciated, nurtured. Perhaps he would be glorious to bend, to shape, but no. No, what was at stake was far too important. He wouldn’t risk his many lives’ work for a quick fuck.

“Jon.”

Elias was speaking to him, of course he was, they’d been talking. And Elias hadn’t told him this, hadn’t shown him this thought. Christ, how had Jon never noticed? But then why would he. There’d never been any reason to think Elias had looked at him like that.

“I know the position has been a bit stressful, and you’ve taken on that responsibility admirably. But I hope you understand if you have any concerns, you can come to me.”

Too close now, but that was good, wasn’t it? Jon barely managed to stifle a laugh, at the insanity of what he was contemplating. But it just might work, might be the chance he needed. To distract Elias. Get what he wanted.

And to know, just a bit, what secrets Elias might yet reveal.

Before Jon could have more regrets than he already did, he grabbed Elias’s lapels, and brought their mouths together. An absolutely terrible kiss, Elias momentarily unresponsive against the press of his lips. Jon had already managed to shock him. He almost laughed again. But before he could do anything else to break his cover, Elias recovered.

He pushed Jon back. Not hard, simply enough to send Jon stumbling back a step, reaching out to steady himself on the desk as his heartbeat pounded in his ears. Was this it? The bizarre final act that made Elias certain he was an imposter? Maybe he didn’t know Jon was from the future, but then, he didn’t have to, did he? All he needed was enough to be certain that Jon was a threat, curious but too dangerous not to be eliminated. After all, it was still early. He could find another Archivist.

But he wasn’t moving against Jon. Just staring at him with an odd expression. Considering, but what? Elias could be impulsive when threatened, a fact Jon knew all too well. But he was also prone to arrogance.

Jon’s eyes darted around the room, frantically looking for any weapon Elias might use, and any escape for Jon. But it was too late, Elias striding towards him, hand on Jon’s chest as he shoved him up against the wall.

And kissed him back.

Despite being the one to initiate, Jon stiffened. But that didn’t seem to deter Elias in the least, as he threaded his fingers through Jon’s hair and adjusted the angle of his head. His tongue traced Jon’s lips, and Jon let them part. For a moment, simply being and letting Elias act as he tried to regain his bearings.

As he tried to pretend that some small part of him didn’t want this.

Elias drew back, looking alarmingly like he might ask Jon another question. The last thing Jon wanted right now, when he didn’t have an explanation. At least one that didn’t rely on him knowing far more than he should, exactly what he’d been trying to avoid. Before he could manage, Jon gripped a lapel again, pulling him back in to another kiss, while he reached for Elias’s hip again. For the pocket that held the key.

Subtlety was important. Even deniability, so that if Elias did notice, Jon could just claim his hand slipped, or some nonsense. Or that he wanted a better grip? Maybe that would work, as daft as it sounded. It wasn’t like making out with his boss was exactly normal and sane in the first place.

His hand tightened on Elias’s hip, inching towards his pocket as Elias broke the kiss again, turning his attention to Jon’s neck. Pulling Jon’s head back to expose it further, leaving Jon feeling terribly vulnerable as Elias’s teeth skimmed over his throat. Not that he would tear it out, or anything that alarming. At least, probably not.

Jon swallowed, and shivered as Elias nipped at his vocal chords. Shifting uncomfortably at that reminder of the danger he was in, a move that dragged on his hardening cock. Tactile stimulation, that was all, as Elias moved lower, biting into a spot near the base of his neck and startling a moan from Jon’s lips. For the best, really. It would be more convincing. Elias had to believe that’s all this was. Raw, impulsive need.

That couldn’t be all this was, couldn’t be any of it. Not when Jon was so close to his prize.

His fingers curled and flexed, drawing them just a bit deeper into Elias’s pocket. Closer and closer, as Elias returned to his mouth, nipping at Jon’s lips and making him gasp. Forgetting himself for a moment as Elias swept his tongue along Jon’s, hot and heady and absolutely not the point of this entire exercise.

Why couldn’t he have it, though? For one stupid, selfish moment. Why couldn’t he enjoy the warmth, the rustle of cloth? The brush of lips against his jaw, and the cut off moan he realized was his, drawn from his throat as easily as he would later draw the words that spelled doom for the world, and something else entirely for them.

And it couldn’t be.

Another twitch of Jon’s fingers, and Elias tensed. For a terrible, drawn-out breath, Jon thought he’d caught on. That it was all over. That maybe those teeth would bite harder, or a knife would plunge into his gut. Or the hand that had moved from his chest to the base of Jon’s throat would stifle any protest he might make, once and for all.

“Why not,” Elias murmured against his lips, voice colored with amusement.

Before Jon could ask what he was talking about, or say anything at all, Elias closed the remaining space between them, and ground their hips together.

Elias thought— Good lord.

Elias laughed softly, and Jon realized he’d spoken aloud. But hardly a problem, was it? Not when it was so easy to misinterpret his surprise as desire. And Jon couldn’t deny, there was a desire to it. Even with Elias simply rubbing against him through their clothes, muffled by fabric and not nearly enough, he was only getting harder. Gasping against Elias’s lips, kissing him back even as he struggled for what he had to remember. The key, he needed the key. Not any of this.

But it would be a further distraction. For Jon, yes, which was unfortunate. But for Elias as well, if he was focused on getting off and not Jon getting a key off him. And all the more reason for Jon to fumble at his hip, for a key to maybe fall out, swept free by loosening clothes.

And the clothes were loosening. Elias, clearly frustrated by the barrier, deftly opened both their trousers, not bothering with the rest as he freed their cocks and brought them together in one hand. After a moment’s hesitation, Jon joined him with one hand, leaving the other on his hip, ready to dip inside his pocket at any moment.

“Perfect,” Elias said, as Jon wrapped his hand around their cocks next to Elias’s. A loose enough grip to jerk into it, rubbing against their mingled grip, against Elias’s cock. Fuck, he needed to keep it together. Elias’s hand was still in his hair, but his lips left Jon’s as he instead pressed their foreheads together. “Open your eyes, Jon.”

He hadn’t realized he’d closed them. Part of him wanted to refuse, was screaming at him to refuse. The eyes were always the danger, always the mistake, always the temptation. If he looked into them too long, Elias might see him. Might see everything Jon was hiding, everything he shouldn’t be. Wasn’t, anymore. Except when he looked too hard and wanted too much and needed so much more than he could take.

But Jon always opened his eyes.

He was too close to see much of anything except Elias’s eyes, and that was far too much itself. But even as he braced for more, the sparking along his skin that spoke of stolen knowledge, the clenching in his throat of words he did not own but would sing into an aria fear, he felt…nothing. Only the twitching of fingers and the shift of muscle and the press of Elias’s cock against his own, and warm breath ghosting across his lips.

“Perfect, Jon. You’re so lovely like this. If I’d known—” Elias rolled his hips, stopping any question Jon might’ve had with a moan issuing from his lips. Elias laughed softly. “Perhaps I still don’t.” The movement was steady as he drove against Jon, between their hands and along his cock. “But I intend to find out.”

The words should’ve been a warning, but Jon couldn’t fight this. Not now, and perhaps not ever, though he still clung to the shreds of his goal. The room filled with the rustle of cloth and their panting. Not enough, even as Jon could feel himself getting closer. Not enough, as he stared into Elias’s eyes. His fingers wiggled along Elias’s hip, finally slipping into his pocket. He still needed the key. Deeper and deeper. A way to unlock the door. Fingertips brushing warm metal. Behind it—

A flood.

Over the torrent that crashed across his mind, he thought he heard Elias speak. Even understood the words, before they too were washed away a wave of sensation. Torn from his body in this brief moment, because his body did not belong to this feeling, was not ready for the terrible ecstasy that was knowing and seeing. The end that had not yet come, the now that had already been altered, by each small action. By Elias’s suspicion, for a moment thrown into stark clarity.

_What are you._ It was a passing thought, caught from a man used to taking his own counsel. But Jon answered anyway, though the answer—a battered tape recorder, a sky breaking open—only puzzled Elias further. But it was too late for him to ask more. Jon was already drowning as Elias’s teeth dug into his lips and they both tasted blood.

It couldn’t last, and that knowledge more than the rest made Jon shake. With the terrible longing for the world he had made and abandoned, and the strain of clinging to the fragile certainty that he had been right to do so. With the hunger to drink deeper, as Elias was now drinking him in, lips and tongue on his skin, hands catching on fabric as he sunk to his knees. What had he seen? What did he see now? Could he feel the burning gaze upon him, if only for this brief moment, as his lips slid around Jon’s cock, with just a hint of teeth.

Jon’s hand had slipped free of Elias’s pocket when he’d knelt, but somehow he’d kept hold of the key. His fingers clenched around it as he bucked into Elias’s mouth, chasing the ghost of a feeling that was already fading. Falling into a heady warmth as he sagged against the wall, panting and staring down at Elias, still sucking eagerly on his cock. Focused on the task, but he must have felt Jon’s gaze. Because he looked up, knowing far too much but still little enough. Christ, Jon hoped it was little enough.

It was a thought he clung to as he came with a cry he muffled with his own arm. Using the movement to slip the key into his own pocket, hoping Elias was too focused on his task to see. Continuing to hold Jon in his mouth, caress him with his tongue as Jon whimpered and softened and wondered what the hell he’d been thinking. There had to have been a better way to get the key. A better way to get far more than the key.

But that was hindsight, wasn’t it? All he could do now was watch as Elias sat back and licked his lips. Looking Jon over, and bringing Jon’s attention to the rather horrible mess of his clothes. Covered in what had to be Elias’s come, and how was he ever going to explain that?

Elias seemed to have come out of this all too fresh, getting to his feet with a soft groan and tucking his own cock away. A bit ruffled, a few wrinkles in his suit, but nothing like the mess Jon was in. Could he make it back to his office without being seen? Unlikely. And even if he did, he didn’t have a change of clothes there. Maybe if he reached the toilets, he could just douse himself in water. It wouldn’t be dignified, but it would be better than this.

“Jon,” Elias said, cutting through his thoughts. “I keep extra clothes in the back room. As well as a small sink, if you’d like to wash up. It’s the least I can do, given, well. Everything.”

He was smiling at Jon. That had to be good, right? A sign he wasn’t about to murder Jon, or worse? That whatever his suspicions, he hadn’t yet figured out the terrible truth.

“Right. That’s—that’s good. Thank you.” He took a few shaky steps to the back room, and stopped. Not turning. Afraid what his face might betray. “I’m sorry for my inappropriate behavior.”

Elias laughed softly, and Jon tensed, but didn’t turn to look.

“A mutual effort there. One we’ll have to discuss. But perhaps tomorrow? I’m afraid I do have a meeting to get to, outside the Institute.”

“Of course. That sounds…good.” Jon cursed internally, but what could he do? Even if he were exactly who he was claiming to be, brand new Archivist entirely unaware, Elias’s request was reasonable. They should talk. Like they had so many times before, threaded with something he wished he could unknow.

He heard the door to Elias’s office click shut behind him. Alone again. Unbidden, his hand went towards his pocket, wrapping again around the key. Most of what he’d seen faded now, but among the flashes, a few things remained.

One was a path. A way of moving. A connection to the terrible heart of everything, to find exactly what Jon sought. An end and a beginning, that he might only find through the man that served as its anchor.

It would be risky, to continue whatever this was. Relationship, or seduction, or something so much worse. But as Jon let the key go, and stepped into the back room, he knew he didn’t have a choice.

Knowing was all he had.

**Author's Note:**

> Title comes from "An Essay on Criticism" by Alexander Pope:
> 
> _  
> A little learning is a dang'rous thing;  
>  Drink deep, or taste not the Pierian spring:  
> There shallow draughts intoxicate the brain,  
> And drinking largely sobers us again.  
> _


End file.
